What You're Allowed to See
by Scifiroots
Summary: Bruce is kidnapped by some very nasty hosts. Warning: strong hurt/comfort, with very little of the comfort... Some mild descriptions torture.


What You're Allowed to See

By Clarity Scifiroots  
Disclaimers apply.  
**Fandom/Characters**: Dead Zone – Bruce, Johnny (strong friendship)  
**Rating**: FRT  
**Summary**: Bruce is kidnapped by some very nasty hosts. (_Warning_: strong hurt/comfort, with very little of the comfort... Some mild descriptions torture.)  
May!fic 16 of 31 (halfway? Holy crap!)

--

He can't see. That's the first thing Bruce notices, even before the painful pressure of a migraine. He bows his head and attempts to raise his hands. Something metal pinches his wrists when he tries. The obvious implication of danger sets his heart racing. He struggles against the handcuffs and turns onto his stomach. His cheek presses against a smooth, cool floor. He tells himself to control his breathing, stay calm. In a couple moments he starts moving again, wriggling around as he brings his knees up under his torso. Awkwardly he manages to straighten up; his head throbs in protest to all the jostling.

Forcing himself to push aside the pain for now, Bruce shuffles forward on his knees, hoping he'll bump into something that might give some indication of where he is. It takes a while, but he does find a wall. He follows it to the corner and then follows that one, trying to estimate how long it is. He hasn't finished when he hears a door open somewhere in front of him; (it opens out, sounds heavy, and there'd been the sound of a deadbolt seconds before).

"What is this?" Bruce demands. He shifts his legs so that he's a little more stabilized. He _knows_ someone's entered the room, is probably standing mere feet away. He can't see, damn it! "What do—"

He's cut off when a sudden blast of freezing cold water knocks him off balance. (It must be some kind of hose, given the pressure.) Bruce gasps and rolls over so that the water is hitting his back instead of rushing directly into his mouth and nose. Abruptly the water stops. He starts shivering as the air does nothing to warm him. Over the chattering of his teeth he hears the door shut and the lock.

He's too shocked from the water attack and too tired from exploring to move. With a groan, Bruce tries to relax. The cold makes his muscles spasm. He wishes he had some sense of what was going on.

--

Bruce wakes up cold, damp, and still shivering. His jaw aches ten times worse than when he's chewed gum too long. His shoulders hurt the worst and he can already tell that will spread into his neck and chest before too long.

It takes a lot of effort to roll onto his side. It's even harder to push himself along the floor to get out of the puddle of water he'd been lying in. He notes that it doesn't make much difference whether or not he's on dry ground. His clothes still stick to him and the chill isn't going anywhere.

--

Sometime later he's switched to lying on his other side. He's slightly warmer now that his clothes aren't as wet. Currently he has to contend with overeager stomach pains reminding him that he has no idea when he last ate. He brings his knees closer to his chest in hopes of easing the cramps and centralizing body heat.

He moves his head, stretching the muscles on his neck. He hopes Johnny's seen something and is on his way.

--

Hands tucked under his arms yank him up and awake. Bruce isn't allowed to get his legs under him and is dragged across the room. His captor drops him and he lands on his hip hard; he grits his teeth against a groan. Hands wrap around his ankles and hold them apart. Apparently there's two people in the room because a second pair of hands is yanking up his shirt. Bruce sucks in a breath as the cool thin edge of metal caresses his stomach. Scissors—his shirt is cut apart and thrown away.

"Hey! What the hell are you doing? What do you want?" he shouts. He tries to kick but whoever's holding his ankles is strong. "Let me go, jackass! Why are you doing this?"

His pants are opened and roughly tugged down his hips. Bruce thrashes as best he can. The scissors slide under a leg of his briefs in obvious threat. He frees, heartbeat pulsing violently in his throat.

He waits passively as his pants and underwear are cut away. His shoes and socks are removed.

They don't leave him alone until he's blasted with another round of ice cold water.

--

He wakes twice more with no incident. Third time's the charm. Someone has a foot planted just below his left knee, his other leg is in the air, wrapped in a snug embrace. It takes a moment to register the pain. His hands clench behind his back as a thin blade slides through the skin on the sole of his foot.

"Fuck!" he yells. "Who the _hell_ are you? God damn it, _what do you want?_"

He receives no answer.

--

He wonders how long he's been trapped like this. He doesn't have the energy to move anymore, even to get away from the mess of urine and bile from the last couple of times he had company.

The freezing water is a regular occurrence and the shock is starting to wear off. Bruce isn't sure how he's not completely numb by this point. The bottoms of both his feet are covered in cuts barely deeper than paper-cuts and burn with just as much persistence. Last visit, they'd started slicing behind his right knee; he could feel the handle of those bleed. Before that they'd sliced his cheek and on his left pectoral they spiraled ever closer to the sensitive skin of his nipple.

He doesn't know who they are or why this is happening. Somewhere at the back of his mind he has a nagging suspicion. For some reason he doesn't want to look at that.

It doesn't look like Johnny's having very good luck.

--

Strangely, the next time he comes around he's lying flat on his back—not chained hands digging into his spine—and he's surrounded with cloth. He's in a bed and he realizes there's light filtering through his eyelids. A steady beep sounds to his left.

He slowly opens his eyes and blinks as they start to water. It takes a few moments to adjust but he can turn his head and identify the usual hospital accoutrements.

"Bruce?" Johnny rushes towards him from the door. Bruce notices the limp is worse then usual; Johnny really needs to get another cane. He says so, somewhat surprised when his voice cracks.

"Yeah, I know you've be bugging me about that..." Johnny pulls forward a chair and sits down. He clasps Bruce's hand between his own and squeezes gently. "Jesus, man, you scared the hell out of us."

Bruce wriggles his shoulders experimentally and knows he's doped up when he feels only a dull ache. "So where was I?" he asks. He's exhausted but the expression on Johnny's face keeps him alert. "John...? How'd you find me?"

Johnny looks away and his head falls forward a little; he looks ashamed. "Ah, that's the thing," he murmurs. "We didn't... _I_ couldn't find you. I didn't have anything that helped." He meets Bruce's gaze with a guilty expression. "God, I'm sorry, Bruce. I don't know how he does it."

"Who?" Bruce insists, attempting to prop himself on his elbows. Johnny frees a hand to gently push him back.

"It was Janus," Johnny practically spits the name. There's a haunted look in his eye as his mouth settles into a determined line.

"It's alright," Bruce finds himself saying. He's now the one covering Johnny's hand. "He's a tricky son of a bitch. But we'll get him. Takes just one slip, right?" He knows his smile's weak. He barely feels like he's the one speaking.

Johnny looks so depressingly helpless. Bruce's chest aches with a mix of concern and dread. "You must have seen something when I was— What did they do? Dump me in a ditch?"

Johnny's pale when he answers. "Sarah found you curled up outside the backdoor and panicked. JJ called an ambulance first before contacting Walt." He swallows and his gaze slides away again. "That was four hours ago.

"I was here when you got in, even managed to touch you before they pushed me out. And I went back to where you'd been left..." Johnny shakes his head. His hand clenches into a fist between Bruce's. "There was a stupid slip of paper in the dirt with 'warning' written on it."

Bruce rubs Johnny's arm encouragingly; a part of him wonders how he manages it when all he wants to do right now is return to oblivion and not think about any of this.

"He sent a message," Johnny says, running his fingers roughly through his hair. "Bastard... said it was a demonstration. Reminded me he _offered_ me a _chance_." Johnny leans forward and fixes Bruce with an adamant stare. "I couldn't accept that. I'm sorry I just can't— And he's watching the others. But he knows..." Johnny's eyes close and he inhales sharply.

Bruce forces himself not to pull away; he needs to hear this as much as Johnny needs to get it all off his chest.

"This display is a 'preview' of what he'll do to you." Johnny pulls closer and leans his forehead against Bruce's. His eyes still aren't open and he's whispering. "Even though you've been returned, you're still a hostage."

Bruce doesn't know what to say to that. He tunes Johnny out and allows his mind to drift. Later he'll deal with this... maybe tomorrow or the next day. Right now he can't be the strong one.

-- --


End file.
